


drain the whole sea

by damerons (noblydonedonnanoble)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blow Jobs, First Order Poe Dameron, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29633958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/damerons
Summary: PO-3655 is officially transferred to the First Order’s flight academy, which is the only reason he can think of for why he’s suddenly chosen to do something quite so reckless.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	drain the whole sea

PO-3655 is officially transferred to the First Order’s flight academy, which is the only reason he can think of for why he’s suddenly chosen to do something quite so reckless.

Because once he’s shipped out from base in the morning, there is no telling when he’ll have another chance. (If he’ll have another chance.)

He stakes out a spot outside the mess hall, and he waits. By this point, he can feel this schedule almost as intimately as he feels his own: mopping and sweeping the mess as soon as the last cycle of troopers has cleared out. Should be finished just about…

The door hisses open, and FN-2187 wheels his cart out.

PO-3655 falls into step with him like it’s nothing. “FN-2187.”

FN-2187 keeps his head forward. He doesn’t bother with even that much of a greeting. “I heard about the training program.” There should have been a _congratulations_ somewhere in there, probably. If PO-3655 were more diligent about reporting anything that suggested a need for reconditioning, FN-2187’s tone would set off alarm bells.

And it does. A million alarm bells which tell PO-3655 that perhaps FN-2187 doesn’t want him to go.

He continues. “The First Order will do a lot of damage with a pilot like you.”

Oh, FN-2187 is picking his words carefully. And underneath his helmet, PO-3655 can grimace just slightly at the tone, but he does not so much as turn his head toward FN-2187, does not let on that he believes there’s a double meaning to those words.

“I’m trying to do damage.”

Silence from FN-2187 is enough to tell PO-3655 that his own double meaning has been heard as well.

If he were wise, that would be it. The troopers were not meant to develop _friendships_ , not really, so this should be enough to part ways with… whatever FN-2187 was.

PO-3655 might have a hell of a good instinct for fighters, but in so many other respects, his instincts are bad. In so many other respects, he is not wise. FN-2187 has led him along his usual route to the storage closet. He’s meant to stash them back in there and – PO-3655 knows, just from casual observation, of course – report to his squadron’s mandatory target practice.

The supplies go in the closet, and neither of them speak.

FN-2187 holds his hand over the switch, almost reluctant to press it, and PO-3655 makes the decision easier: with a firm, tender grip, he clutches FN-2187’s shoulder and pushes him inside, allowing the door to _hiss_ shut behind them.

This is something that PO-3655 has never done, not with FN-2187. With others, certainly—in his bunk, in the fresher, on all sorts of unfamiliar planets while they were meant to be in the middle of training exercises. PO-3655 is no stranger to other people’s hands and mouths.

But he’s never—

“Really?” FN-2187’s voice is soft through the modulator of his helmet.

In answer, PO-3655 reaches for his own helmet, pulling it off tentatively and setting it on a nearby shelf. He and FN-2187 do not have the same meal cycle, do not shower or sleep in the same dormitory, so there are only a handful of times that they have seen each other’s faces. And oh, PO-3655 feels heat pool in his gut at the sound that FN-2187 lets out upon seeing the olive skin, the hair that unfurls from the helmet in what probably looks like a mess.

When FN-2187 doesn’t speak again, PO-3655 reaches for his helmet, next. Softly tells him, “Couldn’t just let this be a fuck.”

“It didn’t have to be,” FN-2187 retorts, his voice equally low. It’s a lie – nothing among troopers is more than a fuck – but it’s a good lie. PO-3655 gets the helmet off, and their eyes meet, and it’s a good lie.

And if it were just a fuck, PO-3655 would already be kissing him aggressively. His hands would already be in FN-2187’s pants. Instead, they stand precariously close. They do not touch, or kiss, but it’s one of the most karking intimate things PO-3655 has ever done.

“Would you promise me something?” PO-3655 murmurs.

FN-2187 licks his lips nervously, and PO-3655 can almost feel it against his mouth. “Okay.”

“I’m dead in a fighter. A Resistance pilot is going to take me out and I’m going to deserve it. But you…” He looks over FN-2187’s soft skin, smooth features. Too kind for the life the First Order has set for either of them. “Take this place down some day.”

Never before has PO-3655 been so explicit, but its effect on FN-2187 makes it worth the risk—he inhales sharply, taking an eternity to nod.

Both of them lean in at the same time. Soft lips and PO-3655 exhaling a sigh into FN-2187’s mouth. For an instant, it is chaste and just a little bit tender. It’s filled with all of the lingering moments and double meanings that have built their relationship into something that couldn’t just be a fuck.

Everything unravels when FN-2187 grazes his tongue over PO-3655’s teeth.

They are immediately frantic and needy for each other, fumbling hands touching anywhere they can reach. Desperate to get their uniforms off, see and feel more skin.

PO-3655 gets into FN-2187’s pants first: clumsy and more than a little awkward, as though he hasn’t done this a million times. But he _hasn’t_ , not with FN-2187. He hasn’t _felt_ him, cock half-hard in PO-3655’s hand that makes them both whimper the moment skin meets skin. FN-2187 from the gentle touch; PO-3655 from the immediate heady desire to be somewhere soft and quiet where they could do this properly.

Kiss and explore each other for hours. PO-3655 laying flat on his stomach and burying himself into his bunk as FN-2187 slowly prepares to fuck him.

Instead, PO-3655 whispers, “Gotta get my mouth on you.”

FN-2187 whimpers again, and for a moment, PO-3655 hesitates. He tries to memorize FN-2187 like this, with his dark, hungry eyes and his lips parted, practically begging to be kissed again. If it weren’t for all of the conditioning that’s karked with his brain, he might have been a romantic, and these are the moments where it shows.

As soon as he is on his knees, he lets out a groan at the sight of FN-2187’s cock. PO-3655 starts in with gentle, steady strokes, wetting his lips and ensuring that he has pulled his foreskin back before flattening his tongue and sweeping it over the exposed head.

Even the small touch gets a reaction out of FN-2187; he inhales sharply, curling a hand into PO-3655’s hair as he leans back against the nearby wall. PO-3655 smiles to himself before following his tongue with his mouth.

On _occasion_ , PO-3655 has allowed himself to imagine this. He’s imagined the way FN-2187 would groan the first time his cock hit the back of PO-3655’s throat. He’s imagined the exquisite pull to his hair upon giving FN-2187 just a hint of teeth. He’s imagined the increasing desperation with which FN-2187 would fuck his mouth in pursuit of release.

But he’s not prepared for FN-2187’s whispered words.

“I want your tongue everywhere.”

“Your mouth is so pretty around my dick.”

“I’ve gotten off to the thought of this so many times.”

The ache between PO-3655’s legs grows more intense with each filthy thing, until finally he can’t help himself anymore. He palms his own erection through his pants, chasing _some_ sort of satisfaction.

And FN-2187 sees. Squeezes his fingers tighter in PO-3655’s hair. “Let me see you touch yourself.”

PO-3655 groans, and the sensation around FN-2187’s cock must be wonderful because he hisses and thrusts into his mouth hard and fast.

Already, PO-3655 is dripping with pre-cum, so his fingers find purchase easily, matching the rhythm that FN-2187 is taking with his mouth. PO-3655 is full to bursting at the sound of FN-2187’s soft grunts and whimpers, certain that he might _die_ from the sensation of it all. What a good death.

FN-2187 pulls PO-3655’s hair again, but this time it is to tilt his head backward just enough to tell him to _look up_. He does, and the picture is breathtaking—FN-2187’s chest is heaving, his mouth slightly open and his eyes glassy.

“Don’t want you to go.”

PO-3655 can’t help it: the words shatter his heart, and he has no doubt the feeling is etched across his face. Not only because he can feel it, but because it’s almost in the next instant that FN-2187 spills into PO-3655’s mouth. PO-3655 takes it, swallowing hungrily and savoring FN-2187’s haphazard strokes while he increases the pace with which he touches himself. He comes onto the floor with a groan, and FN-2187 bucks into his mouth with renewed vigor, the sensation sending shockwaves through his oversensitive cock.

The moment FN-2187 eases out of PO-3655’s mouth, he is on the floor—he doesn’t even seem to notice as his knee settles into PO-3655’s cum, too preoccupied with grabbing for PO-3655’s neck and pulling him into a long, sentimental sort of kiss.

“I have to,” PO-3655 whispers, once they’ve pulled apart.

Even though he doesn’t elaborate, he can tell that FN-2187 understands what he’s responding to.

“I know.”


End file.
